Hurt
by becksalgado
Summary: "Everything hurt. He went about his days plastering his mega watt smile on his face knowing that those around him could not tell that he was hurting..."


It hurt.

Everything hurt. He went about his days plastering his mega watt smile on his face knowing that those around him could not tell that he was hurting. He was good at that. At hiding. He needed to be good because he knew if they saw how damaged he was they would pity and turn away from him. But now it was taking its toll.

_I thought I would die…._

He still woke up with the blood on his face. He still tried not to cry every time he met or heard her name. He tried not to think about the gaping hole or the blood. It had been years and he still went to her rooftop every year and gave her flowers. No one knew that he did that.

_You'll do…_

Finding out that the man he looked up to and owed his job had been hiding something from him for years didn't really surprise him. No, everyone had their secrets and his was a big one, causing such pain and anguish that he never was mad that the other man didn't tell them. What hurt was how he left. Or that he did leave. Because he knew that it was going to be hard to put the pieces together again. He knew that and yet he still left with only two words. That was when he really got good at hiding his pain. Because everyone needed him, even if they didn't want to admit it. Abby was inconsolable. He had to hug her every day for the first two weeks for a good thirty minutes before she was ready to work. And she still had her shrine for the other man up every time he walked in. _God it hurt._ The other two tried to usurp his authority every chance he got. And then he came back. And he locked all those feelings away and concentrated on his job and the girl.

_Liar…_

_You should tell her…_

God, he was tired of everyone he came close to dying. The good cop. The good agent and friend and former lover. They too haunted his dreams. He wanted to have been in their position. They didn't deserve to die. They didn't. The cop had been in love, waiting for a second chance. Paula. Paula. Her name still hurt him, ringing in his ears, his last words screaming as the door slammed and he knew. He knew he couldn't save her. He also put flowers on her grave.

_I love you..._

What hurt had been that he had meant it. He knew that it was going to blow up in his face but he had meant it. Why wouldn't he love her? She was beautiful, funny, smart, and good. But the fact that she meant it too hurt also. It was then that he could feel that walls getting closer and just waited for all the hurt and shit to blow up in his face, which it did.

_I wish I never met you…_

His heart had stopped then. The pain had been too great. But he mastered to control some of his emotions until he had gone home and then he drowned it in alcohol, something he had promised never to do. And he would only do it one more time. She deserved better. And he would never deserve to have her.

_It wasn't your fault…_

The blood practically flooding the room was seared into his eyes. How was it not his fault? The director, who had once been his friend, was died. His boss's ex lover was died. Because of him. The next months took every ounce of his courage not to plummet into the bottle, or into the sea. The pain and guilt was overwhelming.

_I wish it had been you…_

His partner wished that he was died. He had put his job on the line to try and support her and she pointed a gun at him. A trained assassin pointing a gun at you was no laughing matter. But he couldn't help but laugh at the pain. He cared about her. He wanted to protect her. He in self-defense killed her boyfriend, who had been working an agenda against her. HE had been right, but she still pointed the damn gun at him. And then said SHE couldn't trust HIM. The anger helped cover his pain.

_There were no survivors…_

That was only the second time he drown his sorrows in the bottle in his own home. He couldn't think straight through the haze of guilt and pain. It was Jenny all over again. It was his fault. Action was the only thing that helped mask the pain, so he drove himself into revenge. And then seeing her face. It didn't hurt so much, then. Because he had told the truth, he couldn't live without her.

And now. And now he was watching as the team was falling apart. His boss, who he had saved numerous of times and who in return had always had his back, was on his own mission, again, and leaving them in the dark. Abby was overwhelmed with guilt and confusion over something that had to do with what Gibbs did in Mexico all those years ago. Ziva was hurt and confused and McGee was trying to understand his role in the game.

And him? He continued to act. He could survive this, he knew that, he had survived not only all the emotional hurt, but also the physical. Hell. The plague. Diving into freezing water and rescuing two people, after ripping the windshield off the car and then giving them CPR. Stab wounds, chained to a murderer. And that list could go on. But yet he still was there, laughing and making movie references. He hid everything. And even after his father came, he was still able to hide that huge hole of misery and hurt. Sometimes he thought that Gibbs knew, saw more. But most of the time he acted.

He could laugh, charm, joke, smile, while chasing down criminals, keeping his team out of danger, and encountering all the dangers of his job, without missing a step and nobody noticed.

It hurt.


End file.
